


Scattered

by HundredSunsets



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Bastila did not sign up for this, I mean? apparently Revan had already lost her memories?, I'm pretty sure the whole brainwashing thing was never really explained, and the Jedi just... put new ones in?, anyway, i know eff-all about the Legends continuity, let me live in ignorance, neither did Revan but that's a given, or if it was, since January? or something?, so here you go, sounds way too convenient, this thing's been lurking in the notes on my phone for MONTHS, well anyway, yeah no I'm not convinced, you can tell this is one of my two a.m. efforts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HundredSunsets/pseuds/HundredSunsets
Summary: Something cannot come from nothing. A person cannot be rebuilt overnight.Can they?





	

It was dark.  
  
She couldn't persuade her eyes to open. Her body felt far away, her mind disconnected. The darkness pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating, and there seemed to be no hope of fighting her way free. Not like this, with her physical self elsewhere and her thoughts separated from her by stretch upon stretch of nothing. She reached for them, but they clumped together to evade her grasp, an invisible light skittering backwards. Her own memories were doing backflips to get away from her.  
  
Fury gripped her, and she pushed harder, straining arms that lay still outside of her head. _Get back here!_ They were her memories. They had no right to run. Not from her.  
  
Well, she thought, and it was sudden, unexpected, let her mind play its games. It couldn't elude her forever, not even in this ocean of emptiness. She could wait it out. She knew what patience was. Nothing was done overnight, and she was a master of the long game, of holding out until the time was right. She was—  
  
Who _was_ she?  
  
Slowly, trying not to startle her fragile, swirling thoughts, she began to push against the darkness. It rippled like water, then snapped back in her face without warning. She did not flinch. She could not feel it, and yet at the same time, she could. It was a strange state to be in, half floating, half dead weight, hearing nothing but a steady beeping on the other side of the dark.  
  
Oh. Had that been there before? Maybe. Or maybe not. But all the same, it was there now, keeping time with her heart. _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._  
  
The sound propelled her forwards, the blackness roiling and twisting before finally parting for her. It rushed out to either side of infinity to let her through, then came up behind again to shove her onwards. All at once, her thoughts were no more than a fingertip away, and she nearly had them—  
  
"I sense—I think she's trying to wake up."  
  
The voice came from the outside, and the shock of recognition wrenched the memories caught in both hands from her grasp. She was thrown back, and a face flashed across her vision. A pale face, grey eyes blown wide, one hand outstretched. A face not so very much younger than her own. ( _How old am I?_ ) A face caught between determination and horror.  
  
_Not to_ kill _me—you were not trying to_ kill _me—oh, but you were, you just didn't think you could. You'd never admit it, but you didn't believe you could kill me. No one has done it yet. It's not about whether they can catch me. They can run around in circles if they like, but I will not play their game. They will not catch me, because I will not lower myself to be chased._  
  
She was falling, explosions ringing in her ears.  
  
_You were sent to kill me. Whatever you might tell yourself, that is the truth._  
  
Sinking.  
  
_But you did not kill me._  
  
Drowning.  
  
_You did not even_ almost _kill me. You just gave me a push in the right direction._  
  
She fell away into the deepest part of herself and was, for the time being, gone.

* * *

  
There was fire. Cold fire, frozen fire, ripping through her, invading every cell, every atom. Her mind was far away again, wrapping itself up in icy white.  
  
No. Not wrapping _itself_ . It was the fire, surging through her veins like electricity and taking what didn't belong to it.  
  
Nothing. Nothing belonged to it. Everything in here was hers, and always would be, and the fire could go to _hell—_  
  
"No! Hold her still!"  
  
The voice was familiar, but not in the way the other voice had been. Known, and yet unknown. Hands, some present and there, some pure energy against her skin, held her down, held her fast, and forced the fire up her spine. It was too much. Too much for the body she could sense was already damaged to take, but it was relentless, and she knew with sudden, terrifying clarity that she was going to be torn apart.  
  
The crackling electricity hit the base of her skull and did not stop there. It seemed to grow hooks and claws, scrabbling at the inside of her head. A talon lodged in her brain and began to worm its way deeper. Everything it touched was scalded and impossibly painful, like someone had poured boiling water over her. A low moan bubbled in her throat, and she felt herself begin to struggle, twisting and writhing under the hands as her mind was wrapped up tighter and tighter. She had a horrible feeling that if she did not take it back now, she might never have another chance.  
  
Another chance. Chance. Another....  
  
Chance to what? Where was she? What had she been thinking about? And why did she feel so—  
  
Pain. Fire. Like fire. Slicing through her skin.  
  
Where—  
  
Who—  
  
In her head, it was like being strangled, the inside of her brain being scraped out by a blunt knife, flicking boxed-up memories into some unnaturally bright corner.  
  
Memories. Memories? Hers? Hers! They—whoever 'they' were—wanted to take them from her.  
  
No. that wasn't it.  
  
They wanted to take _her_ from _them_ . For good.  
  
" _No!_ " The howl tore out of her, the desperate last scream of a cornered animal. She tried to throw herself upright—realising only then that she was lying down—but found herself pinned. She kicked and thrashed, traitorous eyes still refusing to open, a wail building up from her stomach that promised to shatter windows and knock down walls. But a sudden surge of fire left it lodged at the back of her mouth, where it began to grow sticky and impossible to breathe through before. The fire lanced up her neck, catching the memory box with its long tendrils, and it was too late. Somewhere in the centre of her brain, something exploded, blowing her very being to pieces and leaving her suspended, hovering in the in-between.

* * *

  
  
"It's done. She is gone."  
  
"Are—are you certain? She—"  
  
"Padawan. Search your feelings. You of all people should be able to tell."  
  
"I sense..."  
  
"Bastila?"  
  
"She is different now. I can still feel her, but she's scattered. If she finds a way to put herself back together—"  
  
"That will not happen. You say she is scattered. Can you elaborate?"  
  
"Her mind has become a void. There are pieces of her here and there, but some are so far apart, it's as if the space between them is... endless."  
  
"Then we will fill the space. Her new identity is ready and waiting."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"You look troubled, Bastila."  
  
"It's only... She was in pain. Before, when you were all using the Force to... She was screaming."  
  
"It had to be done. And she has inflicted much greater pain on others."  
  
"But as Jedi, should we not—"  
  
"As Jedi, we should help. Sometimes, what helps appears to harm. But we do these things for the good of all. Remember that."  
  
"May I ask a question, Master?"  
  
"You may."  
  
"Who was Faylinn Ashyber?"  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"I was only wondering if perhaps she was someone who died, and now we're using her identity as a cover for _her."_  
  
"Ah. No, Faylinn Ashyber is pure invention. Someone of that name may have existed once, but it is not her story we are using here. Images and records of a real person might easily be found, and think what would happen if everything matched up but the faces! No, this way is better. The names were only chosen because they're Deralian."  
  
"So she's to be from the Outer Rim? Forgive me, I don't mean to sound impertinent, but isn't that a little too close to the truth?"  
  
"A good lie should always have some truth to it. No need to look shocked, Padawan. Deception is unavoidable here."  
  
"Yes, Master. I understand."  
  
"Bastila. It is my turn to ask something of you, and I must warn you, you will not like it."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"You are the one who has a bond with her. We—that is to say, the Council—feel it would be best for you to do what must be done next."  
  
"Me? You want _me_ to—"  
  
"May I remind you, Padawan Shan, that you are the one who made the decision to bring her back alive?"  
  
"A Jedi does not kill—"  
  
"A Jedi protects. True, she may prove useful to us in her altered state. But what if she had escaped before you reached here? What if she had awoken? She might have killed everyone in sight."  
  
"She was comatose and barely holding on! Master, you saw how she was when she arrived. If I hadn't been there—"  
  
"Precisely. _You_. Bastila, you have never been anything but a credit to the Order, but you are the one who chose to keep her heart beating. Your actions have consequences. You must be prepared to face them."  
  
"...Yes, Master."

* * *

  
  
When she at last opened her eyes, it was to darkness. The room, small and musty-smelling, blurred in and out of focus, and she would have fallen sideways had she not been tied to the seat. Her arms were bound behind her back, ankles were strapped to the legs of the hard wooden chair. What was this? Some kind of interrogation waiting to happen? A kidnapping? She was pretty sure she hadn't come here of her own accord.  
  
"Hello."  
  
The voice came from nowhere, making her jump. Pulling herself together, she peered into the blankness before her, and gradually her eyes adjusted to show her a human outline. Near-human, at least. Might've been Mirialan or Pantoran or something, for all she could tell.  
  
"Uh... hey," she said, squinting. She couldn't make out the face of the person sitting opposite her.  
  
"I need to ask you some questions. Please don't try to move."  
  
"Yeah, that's incredibly likely," she muttered, wincing at how croaky her voice sounded. And at the stale taste in her mouth. It was like she'd been asleep, which she was nearly certain she had, but for how long was another matter. "Could I—could I get some water?"  
  
"No." Oh, she did _not_ like this person, whoever they were. _She_ , her mind whispered. _Human female, fairly young._ Wait, how did she know that? It was like the thought had come from... outside, somehow.  
  
The woman tensed. _Almost like she read my—_  
  
"Something wrong?" It occurred to her that it was a little odd, that she was asking when she was the one tied to a chair.  
  
"It's fine." The cold voice was clipped, the Core accent pronounced. "And _I'll_ be asking the questions."  
  
She sat back—not that there was very far to go—and tried to fold her arms before remembering they were secured. "Go ahead. I don't have anywhere to be." Or maybe she did, but not for the life of her could she remember.  
  
"Very well." The woman leaned forward slightly. _Must be nice to have the freedom to do that._ "What is your name?" Was that it? _Some interrogation this is._  
  
"I'm—" Oh. "Uh—" Her brain had short-circuited. "Look, give me a minute. I'm kind of having a bad day." That much seemed obvious.  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
_No minute, then._ She thought hard, the cogs turning in her head, but they were creaky, rusted. Damn. What was wrong with her?  
  
"Are you trying to get to know me better?" she queried, ducking the question. "Because I have to say, your people skills are dire."  
  
"Tell me your parents' names."  
  
"Why?" She cocked an eyebrow. "Are you planning to go round and talk to them?"  
  
"What do you do for a living?" the woman pressed. "Where are you from?"  
  
"Slow down, will you?" Her head was beginning to throb, and not just from the relentless questions. It felt like someone had slammed her into a wall.  
  
"Do you have siblings? Did you have any pets growing up? Who were your first friends? Where—"  
  
"Stop it! Stop!" She shook her head wildly, new panic clouding her thoughts and making everything fuzzy. Why didn't she know her name? It was her _name_ , for kriff's sake! "Shut up and let me think!" The woman watched her for a moment, shadowed face impassive, then spoke.  
  
"Your name is Faylinn Ashyber."  
  
_What?_ "No, it's not." She didn't know what it was, but that wasn't it.  
  
The woman rose, crossing the short distance before stopping in front of her. "Your name," she repeated, raising a hand, fingers splaying, "is Faylinn Ashyber."  
  
"No." Or was it? An invisible band tightened around her head. "Ow! Back off! That's not my..." It wasn't... But her mind felt like water. The smallest splash caused a massive ripple. "I'm not... I'm... ah!" She jerked her head back, and it cracked against the wall behind her. "My name," she gasped out, "is _not—_ "  
  
"One last time." The voice was ice. "Your name is Faylinn Ashyber."  
  
"No! No—no, _no_ , no..." _Yes. Yes._ Her head felt like it would burst. _Yes. It must be your name. If it isn't, what is? Do you have any alternatives you want to throw out?_ "Yes. It is."  
  
"You were born twenty-six standard years ago on Deralia." She could just about pick out the eyes that bore into her. Grey. Depthless. They might have been warm, in other circumstances, but not here. Not with her. Not with... Faylinn? Yes, that was it. "You're from a small village where they don't keep a record of birthdates, so you do not know yours."  
  
"I do!" she—Faylinn—the name didn't sit right, somehow—protested. "It's—I know when I was born." And it was not on Deralia. She didn't even know where Deralia was.  
  
"Your parents were Narick and Aphanlie Ashyber. They were farmers. They died when you were twenty. You and your younger brother Gebrey took over the running of the farm."  
  
"No! Ah—I—let me go! Dammit, let me go!" She wasn't used to being the victim. She knew it. Wasn't sure how she knew, but she did, even as the knowledge was almost drowned out by the pain squeezing her skull like a fist.  
  
"You joined the Republic's army when the Mandalorian War broke out. You were a soldier."  
  
"I..." Her vision was going white around the edges. She wanted to tell this woman it wasn't true. But there was something there... Mandalore. The war. It rang a bell, it really did. Fighting. She was certain she had fought in a war. Battles, explosions... yes, yes, she had been there. She. Faylinn... Faylinn Ashyber. She was Faylinn Ashyber. From...  
  
"Deralia," she rasped. It didn't quite seem right, but... "I'm—I'm from Deralia?"  
  
"Yes." The pained lessened a fraction. "And you're how old?"  
  
"Twenty... six?" Oh, stars, let that be right. It sounded right. It had to be.  
  
"You are. And your parents...?"  
  
"They were—they were farmers!" She had been fighting to get the words out, but as soon as she started to speak, they ran off her tongue. They were almost natural to her. Why shouldn't they be? They were true.  
  
Weren't they?  
  
"My brother," she continued, struggling against bonds both physical and mental, "he's a little younger than me. We took over the farm when our parents died. Then the war began. I went to fight. My name is Faylinn Ashyber. I'm a soldier. I'm... I'm twenty-six. My parents were Deralian farmers, and after they died, my brother and I—" Some part of her knew she was going in circles, but she couldn't stop herself. She was stuck in a loop, going round and round again.  
  
"That's enough." The pressure in her head abruptly ceased, and she sagged in her seat. The woman lowered her hand, glancing briefly away. "You've—you've done well. Thank you for your cooperation."  
  
"I..." She tried to raise her head and found she couldn't. Cool hands took her face between them.  
  
"Faylinn, look at me, please." But her eyes wouldn't focus. "Can you hear me?" For the first time, there was a touch of concern in the voice. But beneath it... maybe she was wrong, but she thought she heard fear. For her? Or of her? No, that was laughable. She was exhausted and couldn't sit up. Why would anyone—especially this woman—be afraid of her?  
  
"I... hear you." She blinked, head flopping against the hands that cradled it. "Who are you?"  
  
"It doesn't matter. Listen to me, Faylinn. I'm going to send you back to sleep." The voice had become almost gentle. The woman knelt down in front of her. "Don't worry about anything you're not sure of right now. While you sleep, the blanks will be filled. You only had to be here so that the groundwork could be laid." _What groundwork?_ "When you wake, you won't remember this conversation."  
  
"Why not?" A brief, tired spark of indignation flared. She would _not_ be told what she would remember! Who did this woman think she was? She would... would not...  
  
"I'm going to let you go," the woman continued as if there had been no response. "I need you to hold your own head up and look straight at me. Can you do that?"  
  
"Don't know. I should... find out from someone... dunno who you're meant to ask about that stuff around here..."  
  
Fingers snapped under her nose, one hand still gripping her face. "Focus, please." Her head lolled to the side. The woman sighed. "Fine. I'll hold your head up. But you must look at me."  
  
She tried. Her eyes were bleary, but she could see a shape in front of her that looked like a face. The woman's free hand rose, and Faylinn flinched, but the hand on her face had an iron grip. The other hand made a careful swiping motion, and the voice that accompanied it was low, laden with a strange power that she felt she almost understood.  
  
"Goodnight, Faylinn."  
  
Blackness on all sides rushed over her, and half a second before it dragged her down, a single candle of truth flared to life in the darkest depths of her mind. It was more smoke than flame, but it was there, and it would have its say before it went out forever.  
  
_I am not Faylinn Ashyber. I am not from Deralia and I am neither a farmer nor a soldier. I am—_  
  
And then the light was doused and she knew nothing at all.


End file.
